


Hate How Much I Love You

by KannaOphelia



Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Flirting (Good Omens), Extremely reluctantly pining Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Movie Script Canon (Good Omens), Post-Canon Fix-It, This is basically fix-it fic for the movie script
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Five times Movie Script!Crowley tried to confess his feelings to Aziraphale, and one time Aziraphale actually seemed to understand.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559824
Comments: 71
Kudos: 270
Collections: An Angel and a Demon Walked into a Bookshop: Ineffable Husbands Stories





	Hate How Much I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> The only way I can process Movie Script!Crowley is that the hopelessness of his love has caused him to become bitter and want to run away to Alpha Centuari to escape it.
> 
> Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta Deamonia.

“Aziraphale, my annoying angel,” Crowley said while idly helping reassemble an ancient terracotta phallus, “I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Aziraphale said mildly. He carefully fitted a piece in place. “It’s been six millennia. If you didn’t recognise me by now, I’d be worried about you.”

“That–that’s not what I meant, you idiot.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Quite realistically sculpted, isn’t it? But not actually a _face_.”

“I hate you,” muttered Crowley. He hated feeling at a disadvantage to the angel, and he felt that was exactly where he was.

“That’s nice. How about a game of draughts?”

Crowley cheated, but now he knew that Aziraphale knew he cheated and just indulged him, which was somehow the worst thing in the world. Trust an angel to suck all of the fun out of something.

He still played with him every week, regardless.

* * *

Crowley tried again a few years later, as they stared at a new acquisition of the pornography the humans passed off as Religiously Inspired Old Masters. “Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t this inspire anything in you?”

“Rather heavy use of pink skin tone, perhaps. I’m afraid that if I miracle the dirt off it will be quite blinding.”

“I mean, inspire anything regarding _us._ You and me,” Crowley added, hinting broadly. It was always his only hope of getting through to Aziraphale.

“I think that’s supposed to be Michael vanquishing you, not me.”

“When did I ever have anything to do with Michael?”

“Besides, I used to wear rather more clothes in those days. Artists will be artists.” Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose it is vaguely reminiscent of that time in the sixth century you got all worked up when we wrestled and I cast you down the mountain.”

Crowley turned bright red “We don’t talk about that. We don’t _ever_ talk about that.”

“My dear demon, nothing to be embarrassed about. Seemed quite the kindest thing to do, lending you a hand in your moment of hard fate, as it were.”

Aziraphale smiled, as soft and pink and sweet as a stick of candy floss, and Crowley reflected that he had never encountered anything as terrifying and implacable as Aziraphale when he donned his air of innocent stupidity. Considering Crowley had gone up against Satan himself, that was saying something.

“I really do hate you,” Crowley snarled. “I have no idea why I spend so much time with you when there’s much more interesting things to do. And people.”

“Because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was reminded that no one could devastate just like a smiting angel. He scowled and flounced – no, he was a demon, demons didn’t flounce, he _stalked_ – back to his nightclub, and threw some patrons out for the Hell of it.

It didn’t help. He decided he might as well close the fucking place. It was no fun now that he had taken down Aziraphale’s carefully gridded maps of potential Antichrist locations, anyway.

* * *

It took him twenty-three years of weekly sessions of _bloody_ draughts in the _bloody_ British Museum before he tried again. He cast himself dramatically over the game board and said the words he had been practising in his head for two decades.

“Iloveyouzirphalenevermentionthisagain.”

Aziraphale smiled cherubically, which a Principality technically had no right doing. “I know.”

“What do you mean, you bloody know?” Crowley asked, aghast. He sat up.

“You could be off living your dreams in Alpha Centauri, and instead you stayed and saved the Earth. So you could be with me," Aziraphale said. For all the world as if it was a pleasant fact, just not a very interesting one.

“And to save Earth. Give me due credit.”

“Oh, really, dear. You detest Earth. You’re always complaining about how boring it is. No, you gave up your ambitions and risked your life because you couldn’t bear leaving me, and really, I’m quite grateful. I had no desire to be burned alive by your employer. Besides, I would have missed you dreadfully.” Aziraphale began to replace pieces on the board. “I quite realise it’s embarrassing for you, so it’s better not to bring the subject up. Now, shall we continue?”

Crowley really didn’t see any option _but_ continuing.

* * *

A few years later, they were in Crowley's nightclub, which he had quite forgotten to sell thirty years ago. He had been mildly surprised to remember it when he got a commendation regarding it. Something to do with a politician being compromised. Angel and demon had gone to celebrate and were quite sozzled.

“My angel, I _fancy_ you.”

“That’s quite flattering.” Aziraphale sounded less steady than usual, but perhaps that was the booze.

“I fancy your shoulders and your backside and your _hands_ , angel. Particularly your backside, as it happens.”

“I’ve noticed you staring at it once or twice across the centuries, yes.”

“How could you notice? It’s your _backs_ ide. Meaning, meaning it’s behind you. Your. Behind,” Crowley added, in case it was unclear. “Your eyes are on the front side.”

“My human eyes are, yes.”

Crowley glared at him. Bloody angels with their bloody extra eyes. He must have had them too, once, but he couldn’t quite remember. The pre-snake days were a bit fuzzy.

Wait. He was letting Aziraphale distract him from the relevant point again. “You’re quite beautiful, did you know that? So beautiful. _Most_ beautiful.”

“I was designed to look aesthetically pleasing, as were you.”

“I – God, Aziraphale, you are bloody _awful_ , you are stubborn and cruel and I hate you. And I love you and I fancy you and what do you have to say to _that_? Go on. Say something sickeningly virtuous about even a demon heart holding the seeds of virtue as well as sin. I _dare_ you.”

“My dear fellow, I shouldn’t dream of saying anything of the kind. It always upsets you when I remind you that you have a fundamentally angelic nature.”

“Oh – oh, _fuck._ ”

Crowley couldn’t really storm out of his own nightclub. He did it anyway.

* * *

This time it only took him a few weeks. He took off his sunglasses and looked straight into Aziraphale’s eyes. Rather lovely eyes. Deep and blue and deceptively gentle.

“Angel. My Aziraphale. You didn’t tell me if you love me too.”

“Of course I do. Do you really think I would tolerate a demon’s presence if not?”

“Well, you never really know with you,” said Crowley, feeling dizzy. “You might. In order to be obnoxiously good.”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale went back to his work as if the subject was settled, and not particularly interesting in the first place.

“ _Angel._ When you say you love me, in what sense do you mean?”

Aziraphale blew an annoyed puff of breath at the interruption. “In what sense do you want me to mean it?”

Crowley blinked. “Well. In Tadfield back in the 1990s, with that whole Antichrist business. Remember when we couldn’t get a room at most of the places?”

“Yes. Quite Biblical really. No room at the inn.” Aziraphale really did have the most irritating chuckle of all time.

“ _That_ sense.”

“Sometimes you really are impossible to understand.”

“No one wanted us to stay with them because I called you angel.”

“Really, my dear, people do not expect an angel walking around these days. You’re overly suspicious. Besides, they are primed not to notice me.”

Crowley had no idea whether Aziraphale was serious or taking the piss. He never _did_ know with Aziraphale. He did know Aziraphale should have Fallen a long time ago because that level of sheer frustrating innocence _had_ to be infernal in origin.

“Never mind,” he sighed. “Let’s have lunch.”

* * *

“There’s something I’ve always wondered about Tadfield,” Aziraphale said, poking absently at his gravalax.

“What’s that?” snapped Crowley, still stinging from the morning’s conversation.

“Why didn’t you want to share a room with me?”

Crowley stared. All those years of hopeless, miserable, resentful loving, hating Aziraphale and himself for his inability to stay away, and _now_ Aziraphale asked. “Because – well, angel, have you been _listening_ to what I’ve been trying to tell you in the last decades?”

“Of course I have. That’s why I’ve wondered, ever since. I mean, with all these centuries of loving me and fancying me and staring at my behind, and the end of the world looming anyway, I would have thought you would jump at the chance of sharing a bed. I was quite looking forward to it. I do love you, you know. I wasn't just saying it to annoy you.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped in a quite inelegant way.

“I thought I might have misunderstood. But these last few years, you seem to be telling me that I haven’t. So I did wonder what the problem was. My saliva isn’t actually holy water if that’s the hold-up. Nor are any other of my body fluids.”

Crowley took a few gasping breaths. He didn’t seem to be able to put his jaw away. Maybe it was a snake thing.

Aziraphale neatly put his fork down, stood up, circled the table, and put a hand under Crowley’s chin, closing the gaping jaw. And then he leaned down and kissed the demon, deeply and thoroughly. Crowley, who had imagined this kiss a thousand times, had always seen himself as somewhat in control, sullying a pure angel, but it seemed that helplessly opening his mouth and welcoming Aziraphale’s tongue was welcome, too.

More than welcome. The kiss was sweet and wet and surprisingly strong, honeyed fire that left him boneless.

“My _angel_ ,” he said, when his mouth was free.

“There, then,” Aziraphale said calmly. “See, no melting.” Which was true in one way, and in another, more metaphorical way, completely untrue. “That’s all.” He straightened up and Crowley realised, with some panic, that he was going to move away.

“Like _hell_ that’s all,” said Crowley, and grabbed him around the waist so he couldn’t escape. “That’s not all at all. That’s never all.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley reflected that the angel was, in fact, a much worse bastard than he could ever be. But he was _his_ bastard angel and actually, even Alpha Centauri held no appeal at all without him.

On the whole, Earth could be much worse.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still determined to write 31 First Kisses in this series, but I've abandoned the prompts. Just writing all the kissing fic that occurs to me now. :)
> 
> Going to concentrate on the Pirates and Dagon summoning fic for now, but kisses will still pop up. 
> 
> Love you, love comments, and I'm going to try to be better at responding to them! Every single one makes my day.


End file.
